


memories not mine

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Visions in dreams, a huge heap of confusion, i dont know how the tagging in ao3 works baby we're going in blind, im editing this at 1 am i truly have the curse of having big brain moments at ass hours of the night, no beta readers we die like wilbur soot /hj, philza's minecraft hardcore series season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Philza sees a history washed away by time while sleeping one fateful night. He's going insane, he must be.(phil hardcore series season 4 time but he has a reason why he builds the things he does because he keeps getting "dreams" of the old deities' bullshit before he came, and the ender king is still an asshole.)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52
Collections: Anonymous





	memories not mine

**Author's Note:**

> philza minecraft brainrot!! get In the Pog Car baby!!!!
> 
> ender king be like gonna dump this overwhelming information on this guy that's just surviving. good luck

Void filled his eyes.

There were no stars in the darkness of the sky, no light to guide him. With a few looks on his surroundings, it became evident that he didn’t know where he was. Guesses and questions started to rise from the depths of his mind, although none of them were the answers he longed to find. In his disoriented state, he couldn’t see much. Not that there was much to see, in general. The haze in his mind cleared with time, and that’s when he started to truly look around him.

Something passed through his body as he stumbled, reaching out to the darkness all around him. That something ran through his fingers, a feeling not unlike sand escaping the grasp of a palm. With a blink and a twist of perspective, the void changed shape. Materials formed out of thin air, pitch black turning into a pale colour, darkness forming light in a show of magic he had never seen before. All he could do was watch as a throne of the purest quartz materialized before him, grand in a way he couldn’t describe in fear of understating its brilliance. He couldn’t find it in himself to move, to walk, to _breathe_ , as a man as dark as the night walked out of the shadows that made his surroundings. Purple eyes that man had, they closed as he sat on the throne. The mysterious man looked like he belonged there, even if the way he holds himself didn’t quite scream _royalty_. His aura was a more pressing feeling, the kind that freezes your blood, the kind that makes you look up in reverence, a vague feeling of being watched by someone of higher power. He wondered if he had died in his sleep, that this wasn’t a dream like he had thought. The man he was facing might be a deity, for that thought he wasn’t sure, but it’s quickly gaining evidence of its truth.

When those horrible, focused purple eyes looked at him, he found no doubt anymore of that thought.

His sight was scathing, like he was the only one on the god’s eyes, the sole focus of his eye. In a way he was, his mind helpfully supplied, for the only other thing was the void around him, the darkness that has started to swirl. He had no idea how he knew something pitch black was swirling, and he had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps he wasn’t meant to figure that detail out.

And then the god in front of him talked.

_“You.”_

He thought that this might be the afterlife, after all. He truly died in his bed and was not allowed to live again. It’s a cruel joke to play on a truly dead man, to fill him with terror in his afterlife, as if he needed any more of that after dying... thrice, now.

_“Observe, survivor.”_

_What was there to see but you_ , he wanted to protest, but then something changed— _again_ –as the throne vanished out of his perception, unable to perceive it correctly anymore. The darkness below his feet swirled like quicksand threatening to bring him in, to take him into yet another layer of limbo, though it never did. Not quite, at least, as he was once again forced to change his perception of the world and the void breaks. It splintered with light, a glow he recognizes as prismarine jutting out of the nowhere that he was standing on ( _was he standing? it felt like being suspended in animation rather than standing_ ), the nowhere that was turning into grains of sand. He blinked as he registered the water that surrounded him ( _where did_ that _come from?_ ) and he registered even later that he could still breathe. A calm blue filled his senses as the world kept forming underneath him, over him, all around him. Three mountains of sand piled along the cardinal directions omitting south, pillars of black ( _obsidian_ ) constructed with beams of multicolored lights shining from their depths. The vast expanse of colourful coral that decorates the floor, a red tinted tree that shined even under the water with a forest of similar, smaller trees around it. Craters form through the land, emitting smoke. The remains of what seemed to be a city built in purple bricks, with a ship and a trident to boot, and the many, many prismarine lamps that glittered the seafloor, thrown and distributed like rocks under the water.

And most importantly, the skeleton of a dragon that he was facing.

It was moldy, seaweed and plant life were already starting to break through bone. Fish of many kinds swim through the hollow in between the ribs, the holes in its skull, the severed parts of its spine. What was once the support of what he would imagine as once mighty wings spread though the sand, huge wingspan obvious by the size. His own wings fluttered in response, dark scales glowing purple in the lighting, reflecting in pink as he dared to enter the maw of the Mother that once protected what he could only describe as an atlantic paradise.

It shouldn’t be. He knew there could only be one place where a dragon would exist, where a dragon would eventually rest. He wasn’t stupid, and The End also wasn’t supposed to be drowned in water. Though, he admits, it was a breathtaking sight. It fit the barren land better than he had expected it would.

And the sight that he was walking away from, as he descended deeper into the heart of the island.

While he had no idea where the thin cavern would learn him to, a throne room wasn’t the last thing in his mind, though certainly not one of the first, either.

It was the only thing not submerged in this place. Vines grew from the walls, their age evident in the way mushrooms had started to grow on the place as well. The throne was smaller, though not out of place with its surroundings. Crystals that once belonged on top of obsidian towers bracketed the throne, and it felt like a resting place rather than the grand throne it was supposed to be.

Perhaps it was, based on the way the God that greeted him sat on it, posture tired and resigned rather than the confident way he carried himself in his earlier memories. The shadows that enveloped his body had vanished, revealing quartz white skin. Eyes glinting purple like stars ( _perhaps they were, he vaguely remembers something resembling them_ ), the god opened his eyes. He didn’t look at him, even though he was sitting in front of him. As if he was invisible, as if he didn’t exist. Perhaps he didn’t, and only now does he realize he was looking at a memory rather than experiencing it himself.

 _“I used to rule this realm,”_ the god started, though his voice ( _his voice held no regret,_ ) was not from his body that was still hunched over his throne, _“they called me the Ender King.”_

His vision swam with sights and happenings that he couldn’t comprehend all at once, flashing before his eyes like it was the end of his life. The power of the Ender King, the rebellion against his goal of combining all the realms, the red of the nether, the darkness of the void that was held back only by a goddess with hair as bright as flowing lava— _“I have been forgotten to time by this world, and the evidence of my existence with it as well.”_

_“Survivor. You are the only one that was deemed worthy to know. Do with this knowledge as you will. You are the seer of the past, remember this history that has been swept away long before you fell into this world.”_

_“Remember us, Seer.”_

Phil woke up with a jolt and fell out of his bed with a loud thump in his panicked haze. Groaning to himself, he rubbed his head that had connected straight to the hard stone floor. He sat up with a grimace, looking around. His enchanting table and bookshelves were there, his grinder, his anvil, his chests, his home. He grounded himself in this reality, in this world. He wasn’t in a floating void, looking over the End island.

The End.

Was the memories he saw true? The visions of the past long gone, a history of this world he had never unearthed before last night’s dream? A story lost to the course of time? Something was there, surely. Evidence of a world that was once destroyed before it righted itself. If something had happened before, there must be some sign it did happen. Or else he’s going to go into a server and find himself the nearest psychiatrist, because he might be going insane otherwise.

Every world he entered had always been a clean slate. To explore, to mine, to build monuments inside. Had something really happened before he arrived here, he would have noticed. He had been on many biomes, none of them hinting anything towards a past. "Maybe it was just a dream...", he muttered to himself. Though, he hasn't messed with the End island much yet...

Phil had never walked faster in his life as his legs lead him to the portal. Well, current life, anyway. But the End was just as he left it, when he entered the portal into the realm. Nothing changed other than the amount of endermen walking around the island. He felt hard endstone underneath his feet, an empty expanse of pale white with no underwater decoration (nor any water, speaking of) in sight. Feverishly, he started digging to the heart of the island. Surely, there will be something there. Though, he was expecting nothing—

A cavern revealed itself in front of his very eyes. Two end crystals, buzzing with power, bracketing a broken quartz throne.

Well, shit. He's not going insane, after all.


End file.
